Los Angeles

They announced the arrival of the Mother of Abominations on the American Dominions Network the morning of April 4, year 7. They promised exclusive interviews and behind the scenes coverage. My favorite show, Crucifarm Indio, would be pre-empted. But I didn’t blame them. She was the bright star that would guide us.

“In other news, Daniel Machado, a Bishop-General in the Soldiers of the Christ, will be shot in Freedom Square this morning, after his wife and 6 children are dismembered alive in front of him. Killing and burning Christians is important work, as it is necessary to maintain order. Praise to the Mother of Abominations…”

I was an execution team leader and my team was chosen to kill the Bishop. It was a great honor. The Soldiers of the Christ bombed Crucifarm trucks and burned down churches. They had to be rooted out, poisoned down to the roots.

“Finally, the front of the Temple of Moloch on Beverly Boulevard was discovered to have been defaced with the Soldiers of the Christ’ slogan, We Will Rise on the Last Day. Anyone with any information that helps catch these terrorists will be rewarded…”

The whole world knew me once, but I don’t know if anyone is left. My name is Davis Malone and I was a sniper in the Los Angeles Police Department South Division and a loyal member of the Order of the Fly.

I was assigned to shadow and protect a VIP during her time in Los Angeles. At first I didn’t know who it was. I thought it might be a high priestess of Lilith, at best. Then I received the order directly from the American Chief of Dominions himself.

She is the Mother of us all. Show her we are loyal. Kill anyone who gets in her way. Show her we can defend our way of life.

I met the Seattle police officer traveling with her at 530 AM inside the main warehouse of Crucifarm-23 in Bell Gardens. He said his name was Matthew Jones and if I had any questions for her, I should speak to him.

“If you look at her without her blessing, it will destroy you.”

The Mother wore a black shroud and walked among the empty crucifixes. Her long white fingers burned the wood.

“This is a bad idea,” I told Jones as I inspected truck 23. I checked the locks on the 25 wooden shipping crates loaded in the back of the bobtail. The floor of the truck was wet with blood and excrement. Some of the cargo was still alive and begged for mercy. “Every one of these trucks is a target. There’s no way to defend them.”

“She can’t be harmed, understand?” he replied as he tested his recording equipment.

“Then let us take her under armed guard to the crematory. Riding the trucks is a risk.”

“She wants to go from start to finish.”

“We take security seriously. If anything happens when she’s here, I go straight to the river and the Leviathan.”

“Don’t be afraid. She will protect us.”

“Okay. It’s your funeral.”

“There are no funerals in her service, only a glorious understanding…”